


the problem of meaning

by undeliveredtruth



Series: svt requests & randoms [12]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst, Butt Plugs, Lingerie, M/M, Office worker Seungcheol, Pain Kink, Prostitute Soonyoung, philosophical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 03:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeliveredtruth/pseuds/undeliveredtruth
Summary: Seungcheol's trapped, and it's not that there's no escape, it's just that... it's more complicated than that. What holds him in place, it's bigger than him, encompassing of the whole world, and also the same as him, reduced to a body and a mind and a soul that fits too well with his.





	the problem of meaning

**Author's Note:**

> This is... a work. I have to say, before you read: trigger warnings are kind of hard to do here, but if you are easily brought down, please don't read it. I guess it's not happy? But I'd like to try to trigger it anyway so T/W for smoking, pain kink, mentions of suicide, and general angst.
> 
> I think... try to read this at night, or when you're alone and can think? Maybe? I hope I don't demand too much. For music recommendations, if you'd like:
> 
> Raving George ft. Oscar and the Wolf - You're Mine  
> The Weeknd - The Zone  
> Cigarettes After Sex - Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

_“It is horrible to think that the world could one day be filled with nothing but those little cogs, little men clinging to little jobs and striving towards bigger ones - a state of affairs which is to be seen once more, as in the Egyptian records, playing an ever-increasing part in the spirit of our present administrative system, and especially of its offspring, the students. This passion for bureaucracy ... is enough to drive one to despair. It is as if in politics... we were deliberately to become men who need "order" and nothing but order, become nervous and cowardly if for one moment this order wavers, and helpless if they are torn away from their total incorporation in it. That the world should know no men but these: it is such an evolution that we are already caught up, and the great question is, therefore, not how we can promote and hasten it, but what can we oppose to this machinery in order to keep a portion of mankind free from this parcelling-out of the soul, from this supreme mastery of the bureaucratic way of life.”_  
_― Max Weber_

Seungcheol has a normal life. He works in an office, goes to his apartment, cooks himself dinner if he didn't have to go for dinner and drinks with his coworkers and superiors, watches dramas, talks to his mother. In the weekend, he goes out with his friends, drinks, still goes to some clubs sometimes if he has time.

But not Friday. Fridays are Soonyoung's.

Fridays... From early on Friday, Seungcheol starts getting nervous. Even before he's off work, at 8 PM in the evening and pretending to work, waiting for his boss to finish, he starts getting anxious.

A bit like Pavlov's puppy, when Seungcheol's clock ticks past 6 PM and he sees Friday on his computer screen, he starts salivating.

It's a long way until then. A long way until his boss starts picking up his stuff and so do his coworkers, turning off their laptops. Seungcheol does the same, picks up his blazer and puts it on his shoulders.

"Dakgalbi tonight, everyone?" His boss asks, and Seungcheol nods. Nods. Nods again.

Yeah... it's Friday.

It's been long since Seungcheol's needed the alcohol as an excuse, to fuel his steps up the stairs to Soonyoung's room. Long since he's stopped pretending he doesn't need this, to see him again.

The low red light in Soonyoung's room is familiar by now. So are the dark curtains over his window, his red walls, the plush carpet under his feet.

So is Soonyoung, lounging under a cloud of smoke, twirling a lit cigarette between his fingers. Seungcheol told him he shouldn't do that, that he'll get burned. Soonyoung chuckled and told him he's intimately familiar with dealing with long, thin objects in his hands.

The picture of seduction, on his hands and knees, crawling to the edge of the bed. His cigarette dangling between his teeth, dropping down to his stomach so he can free his hands, take it in his mouth again. Suck his cheeks in, magnetic, Seungcheol starting to walk to him without even realizing it.

He stubs it on the side of his bed, drops the stub to the floor. A rebel; the building is non-smoking, like seemingly all buildings in Korea are now. Soonyoung would much rather have something else in his mouth, pulling on the zipper of Seungcheol's pants. Pulling his belt off, throwing it off somewhere.

Sucking on Seungcheol's cock like it's his lifeline, like it's Soonyoung who missed him, not the other way around. Seungcheol's hand in his hair, pulling hard; Soonyoung doesn't hesitate to take him in his throat, wrap his lips around the base of his cock. He's skilled and has no reason to hide it anymore, no need to impress Seungcheol, leave him wondering for more, what hides in his existence.

Seungcheol's knees buckle under the weight of it all, Soonyoung's arms wrapping around his thighs, to take him deeper. His eyes, his black eyes that reflect red, looking into Seungcheol's. Seungcheol holds on to his hair, fucks deeper into his throat, feels him tighten around him, his throat convulsing to keep him there.

Soonyoung pulls off when he feels like it, his hips drawing little circles on the mattress. He looks into Seungcheol's soul and takes his cock like it's nothing, like his small mouth isn't obscenely stretched around him. Seungcheol grits his teeth and prays not to come when spit dribbles past Soonyoung's lips, his mouth wet, warm.

He almost does when Soonyoung tips his hips up, the red lingerie barely covering his full ass. He's in a mood tonight.

He does, eventually. When he can't stop looking and sees the base of a black plug under his underwear.

"Yeah, I was eager," Soonyoung volunteers his words like it's nothing, sitting back on his thighs, the lingerie doing barely anything to cover his hard cock. "Are you gonna fuck me?" He turns around, holds on to the bars of his headboard, shaking his ass side to side in front of Seungcheol, his head turned back over his shoulder. Seungcheol can see it all.

Whiplash. He always gets whiplash when he sees Soonyoung. Quicksand under his feet and he loses his balance, falling to his knees on the bed behind him.

Magnetic. His hands attach themselves to Soonyoung's thick cheeks, digging in them, feeling that it's real. He can't... he's not really allowed to, but he spanks his hand down on him and sees the red handprint on Soonyoung's ass, hears his little whine, how he quickly catches himself and moans.

"Pull it out. I'm ready for you, I want it," Soonyoung moans out, long and whispered, and Seungcheol obeys. Plays with the plug just a little, seeing it catch on Soonyoung's rim, his hole pulling it back in. He's obscenely wet, didn't skimp on the lube. Really wanted to be ready.

There's a condom waiting for Seungcheol on the side of the bed, which he puts on. Tries to find more lube, but Soonyoung stops him. "No. Like this. Now."

There should be something in the books about how Seungcheol's paying and how he should have a say in what goes on. But it's always Soonyoung anyway. Always what he says.

Seungcheol's fucking bigger than that damn plug and despite everything, Soonyoung's still fucking tight. It must hurt, but Seungcheol pushes into him, hears Soonyoung's heavy moans, thinks they're not fake. They're not work. He must feel it.

His knuckles are white against the bar of the headboard, and Seungcheol forces himself into him until he's all the way in and Soonyoung's arched his back, gotten him even deeper. It hurts Seungcheol every single time, fucking Soonyoung like this.

But Soonyoung's whispered it to him once, his walls unusually down, that this is the only way, time, he feels something. His clients aren't rough with him; they're all gentle, boring, because Soonyoung is precious, valuable.

Seungcheol's the only person he asks to do that to him, that goes unsaid.

Seungcheol goes and gives it to him then. Doesn't give him time to adjust, watches the tight grip of his ass as Seungcheol pulls out, slides back in. Picks up his pace right away when he can, fucking into Soonyoung with hard, deep strokes. Soonyoung's head falls on his arm, biting at his skin.

Seungcheol wishes Soonyoung wanted Seungcheol to hear him. He would want to hear him too.

But he takes what he can get, pushing his hands on Soonyoung's ass, his skin giving way to his fingers. Seungcheol holds on to his cheeks to fuck into him harder, watching his cock slide in and out of him. The lingerie sits sideways against his ass, and Seungcheol pulls at it. Pulls at it until he hears it rip. Soonyoung won't be able to wear it for anyone else.

"Harder."

Harder. Seungcheol makes himself lose it.

Only then, when Seungcheol's completely given up control, is Soonyoung happy. Only when he's stripped him to the lowest version of himself, the one who can't quite hold back and _takes and takes and takes,_ is Soonyoung happy. Because Soonyoung too knows this Seungcheol doesn't know much besides owning.

Soonyoung ends up on his back, his legs open and Seungcheol fucking into him without abandon, uncontrollable whines slipping from Soonyoung's mouth. Seungcheol pushing into him with all the force he can muster, trying to bite marks in his neck. Seungcheol puts his hand in his hair and pulls him off.

"No marks. Stop or I'll tie you up."

Seungcheol groans in his neck, his lips dragging over his skin. Fine either way. The temptation to just bite another one, a deep one, hear Soonyoung moan out loud in protest and from pleasure, go through with his promise because he _would..._ It's strong.

But Seungcheol pulls off. Focuses on the angle that makes Soonyoung moan and arch his back, focuses on getting that, only that. Only that, until Soonyoung spills on his chest, and Seungcheol buries himself deep into him to come, the condom a shallow barrier between them.

The feelings make up for it. Especially when he pulls out, watches Soonyoung's hole tighten around nothing, and knows Soonyoung misses him.

Soonyoung is not his, not by any means. But if in this moment, right now... fuck if it doesn't fucking feel like it.

Post-coital ecstasy will only get you so far. Only gets Seungcheol to when Soonyoung's laying on his chest, the ashes from the cigarette in his mouth dangerously close to falling on Seungcheol's skin. There's one in Seungcheol's mouth too, grounding.

Truthfully, it's been a few hours, Soonyoung telling him about this new book he's read about the world. The world in general, where they're going. About vocation and purpose and determination and dreams, and what is hell and what is heaven on Earth; what are politics and what it means to lead. Seungcheol has read that book too; found it quite hopeless, but nonetheless interesting. So he can pitch in with Soonyoung's rambling until it's more like a conversation, that floats away until Soonyoung blinks sleepily, comfortable, and then decides he wants another cigarette.

"You haven't kissed me since I came in," Seungcheol remarks.

"Oh. Yeah, true," Soonyoung chuckles, takes the cigarette with his other hand and holds it towards his back, so his other holds him up when he moves up to Seungcheol's lips. He tastes like nothing but nicotine, and it's so addicting. Seungcheol grabs the back of his neck and keeps him in place while he explores his mouth with his tongue. The scars on the inside of his cheeks from biting at them too often, his wet tongue over his, the backs of Soonyoung's teeth. Seungcheol knows them all, raw and ugly. Just wants a reminder sometimes.

And then Soonyoung moves down, and Seungcheol feels his nerves are on fire. He sees it all, all of Soonyoung, hears it all, the ambulance on the street even though all windows are closed, barely there moans from another room, smells it all, the pungent smell of sex, the alcohol on his clothes.

That's it. It's that smell. It's that smell, Seungcheol figures, that brings him down.

No matter how much he swore not to do so, to keep the goodness in his heart and his dreams alive, Seungcheol degraded himself, his morality lost in the inside of the social machinery he is forced to inhabit.

He has become one of those men. Those 30-somethings with an office job that they hate, kissing their superiors’ ass, living for nothing but the nights when they can buy their way into a younger escort’s bed, reeking of alcohol and hate for themselves and for others, for the world and yet no one in it.

But then Seungcheol's made the biggest possible mistake. Seungcheol _fell_ for that escort. Has irrevocably fallen, seduced by how Soonyoung reached in and touched not only his body, but his soul. By how he eagerly listens to Seungcheol’s nightmare stories from the office, his head pillowed on Seungcheol’s chest and his hand lying on his heart. He listens to all the philosophy Seungcheol sprouts on him too in the dead hours of the night when he is half asleep and half zombie, and it’s not only that he listens. He always _talks,_ and is so much smarter than Seungcheol, so much more intelligent, that Seungcheol feels his heart drop to his feet every time Soonyoung opens his mouth, the anticipation of what he will say a vice grip around his chest.

Seungcheol has fallen, for the easy seduction of Soonyoung’s robe covering nothing that matters, of his sweet words and his honeyed skin, his brain, his determination, his wit, and damned himself in the meantime.

Soonyoung's sheer presence isn't enough to keep the demons at bay now.

"Soonyoung-ah."

He hums. Like it's a moan, low and dangerous. "Yeah."

"Why are you still here?"

He knows Soonyoung can tell in an instant, why he asked. "I like it."

"Are you serious?" Anger raises in Seungcheol like poison. "You can't... seriously, Soonyoung, you can't like _this._ Selling your body, being a..."

"Don't try to hurt me," Soonyoung warns, _low and dangerous._ "You're not going to make me remember you."

Seungcheol clamps his big mouth shut.

"Come with me. Come with me, Soonyoung," Seungcheol lets it out, sets free the biggest stone in his chest. Right then, his heart raises to his throat, the nervousness overpowering. He feels... like his mouth took over and he's made the most important decision of his life without thinking, but _this is it,_ and he wants it.

This is it, this is what he's wanted all this time. This is the answer, and his throat constricts, expecting Soonyoung's answer... He'll... he'll say yes. He'll be shocked, but then he'll see Seungcheol means it, he really fucking does. He'll do it all, for him...

Soonyoung chuckles. Easy as that, bringing Seungcheol's world crumbling. Soonyoung's not taken him seriously. He's... _No._

"No, Soonyoung, I am serious," he says, grabbing on to his wrists, pulling Soonyoung on top of him, nodding. "I am so serious, you don't even know. I'm getting a promotion soon, I know, and I'll be able to take care of us. And I don't care if my family rejects me, or if my friends hate me, I don't care, I just want..."

"Cheol," Soonyoung says, soft, smiles at him, but it's a sad, pitiful smile. Belittling too; like Seungcheol is a child that only knows the meaning of instant gratification, that doesn't know consequences or the larger picture.

Seungcheol really feels like it's over. That feeling... there's nothing to explain the realization that the thing you want most is one you were never able to have, and you misunderstood everything so wrong it's stunning. The pain of rejection can't be held up to anything, not even death.

Death wouldn't hurt like this. Death wouldn't smile down at Seungcheol, his gaze pitiful, like Soonyoung understands something Seungcheol doesn't.

But Seungcheol does. Seungcheol's gone and fallen in love with a whore. The ultimate sin, his most abhorrent mistake. Seungcheol's mistaken his dick for his brain and let himself be seduced by thoughts that Soonyoung could ever be more to him than a warm body to fill his Friday nights. That the conversations they had should have been separated from emotional comfort and attachment.

"I love you," Seungcheol goes and says it. The three words you can never take back. Seungcheol has nothing to lose now. "I love you so much, Soonyoung."

It's not too late. It's too early: Soonyoung doesn't feel enough about him.

The question of whether there is a time when it would've been just right remains unanswered. Just like Seungcheol's confession.

But it's alright. Seungcheol will take what he can get, even if that is Soonyoung trying to make him forget with his lips on Seungcheol's fingers, his tongue dragging down his body.

By next Friday, Seungcheol hasn't forgotten. He hasn't forgotten, but reflexes don't care for emotions. He still can barely wait to get up the steps, but then... he enters the building, talks to the girl in the front.

"Hoshi's not... available tonight. We'll place you with someone else who fits your preferences, is that alright?"

"Excuse me?" He coughs. "Unavailable?"

"Yes... Uhm, Hoshi's left us. We're sorry..."

"Left us, like...?" Seungcheol's eyes widen, terror coursing through his body. He dreads nothing more than becoming the male lead in an outdated novel where the female lead will kill herself over something that doesn't even feel tangible, the reason too outside of the realm of physical or emotional understanding.

"Oh, no, no," she quickly shakes her head. "He's just... he's left. We don't know if," she coughs, "uhm, _when_ he'll be back. We apologize."

Seungcheol nods, turns around and leaves the building. It's dark and he's drunk, and laying on the cold wall behind the building is not helping. Even nicotine reminds him of Soonyoung.

Seungcheol feels small; a cog in a larger machine, drowned by the overarching purpose of the existence of It-capitalized-above that of its parts. The rationalization of the world; Seungcheol gave into his emotions and lost, was sent back into his place.

That book... that book said that even if there is no individual way to escape the dreadfulness of modern bureaucracy, dedicating yourself to your vocation, in whatever it might be, is the only way to find meaning. Now... Seungcheol will maybe have to find that vocation, get over the bitter taste in his mouth when he thinks that he's disappointed Soonyoung.

And when he does, when he is enlightened enough to see beyond his little role... maybe only then, only then he'll try to find Soonyoung. If he'll know enough to.

Time will tell.

_“...the ultimately possible attitudes toward life are irreconcilable, and hence their struggle can never be brought to a final conclusion. Thus it is necessary to make a decisive choice. Whether, under such conditions, science is a worth while 'vocation' for somebody, and whether science itself has an objectively valuable 'vocation' are again value judgments about which nothing can be said in the lecture-room. To affirm the value of science is a presupposition for teaching there. I personally by my very work answer in the affirmative, and I also do so from precisely the standpoint that hates intellectualism as the worst devil, as youth does today, or usually only fancies it does. In that case the word holds for these youths: 'Mind you, the devil is old; grow old to understand him.' This does not mean age in the sense of the birth certificate. It means that if one wishes to settle with this devil, one must not take flight before him as so many like to do nowadays. First of all, one has to see the devil's ways to the end in order to realize his power and his limitations.”_

_― Max Weber_

**Author's Note:**

> You can tell I had to re-read Max Weber and I felt... inspired. Who am I as a person... There's clearly a lot more to interpret there, but anyway.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Find me at @bbysvts on twt or CC, if you wanna talk about this or anything else really.


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